A few hours earlier:
Clyde sat cross-legged in the lotus room, his back against a carved sandalwood pillar, listening to his friends argue for an hour. The incense had burned halfway down, teacups drawn one after another, the discussion heated. His head spun, not from incense or the noise, but from the utter absurdity of the conversation.
"I'm telling you, he should just kiss the boy and be done with it!" Dylon snapped, slapping his palm against the woven mat as if that settled everything.
Clyde's brow twitched.
"Are you crazy?" Lin Heye shot back. "He will come off as a total creep! No one wants to be ambushed like that."
"Oh please," Dylon said, dropping onto his back with a dramatic groan. "I just wink at my fans, and they'll squeal like crazy. Imagine that face comes at them," he said, pointing at Clyde.
"That's not the point!" Lin Heye threw his hands in the air, frustrated.
